


Ascension - Part I

by A_Thieving_Bird



Series: Ascension [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Older Man/Younger Woman, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-08-16 15:59:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16498625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Thieving_Bird/pseuds/A_Thieving_Bird
Summary: Sansa Stark is interrupted during her prayers by Lord Baelish, and the course of Westeros history, and their relationship, is changed. This is not GoT canon but uses some quotes from the show, albeit a bit adjusted.This is my first work so please feel free to provide **constructive** criticism!Thanks and enjoy!





	Ascension - Part I

The snow was falling softly in the forest. Sansa stood by the prayer tree while Lord Baelish, an advisor to whomever would listen, walked around her to face her. She had come to meditate on the loss of her father and brothers, and her mixed feelings regarding Jon Snow, her bastard half-brother. He had asserted his claim to the throne, when it was clearly hers. Lord Baelish had interrupted that meditation, which had initially irked her, but the small talk he began with had turned a bit ominous. He had begun by asking her about her afternoon, then her thoughts, then her plans, and then...her feelings about Jon Snow.

“One can only notice your quietness regarding your half-brother’s newfound kingship. As someone with your interests in mind, I do desire to know your feelings on the matter, if I may my lady.”

Sansa gave a fairly short and curt answer.

“There is no love lost between us, but he is my father’s son. He sits on the throne. From all I see, he is popular with our people.”

“Your half-brother is popular with the people.” responded Lord Baelish “Given different circumstances and opportunity, I believe you would be equally esteemed on the throne.” 

“Circumstances thus far have robbed me of opportunity, my lord.” said Sansa. “My place is here in Winterfell, and my brother will decide my fate. You have watched me go through this world since I was a child...surely you have always known this would be my end.”

“My lady; every man, every person...we are all in charge of our own ends. We must simply strive for what we believe is ours, by whatever means.”

“And for what end do you strive, Lord Baelish?” she queried in an emotionless tone “What picture do you see of my future?”

Lord Baelish’s gravelly whisper seemed to coordinate with the snowfall, and he quietly responded.

“Every time I’m faced with a decision, I close my eyes and see the same picture. Whenever I consider an action, I ask myself will this action help to make this picture a reality? Pull it out of my mind and into the world? And I only act if the answer is yes. A picture of you on the throne… and me by your side.”

Sansa’s mind scrambled to process what had just been said, and she stared at the glaringly white ground. A man, a powerful man, had been so bold as to confess his desire for her ascension to the throne. And him to be her lesser, for that matter. The ground a which she was staring became draped in shadow, evidencing Lord Baelish’s presence in front of her.

Sansa met his eyes for just a moment before averting her gaze to the side in a desperate attempt not to succumb to sudden, confusing feelings. Lord Baelish examined every line of her young face. Every inch of ivory skin, every subtle freckle, every wisp of auburn hair that had fallen out of place, every snowflake that melted gracefully against her flushed cheeks...he was overwhelmed with a hot internal fire that should have melted him to the ground through the inches of snow beneath his feet. He was aching to gauge her feelings on his revelation, and as words were obviously failing her, he made his move...a move that was years waiting.

He leaned his face down at an angle, with his lips delicately parted to meet her own.

“Lord Baelish, I -”

Any of her feigned protest was for naught, as he gently pressed his scruffy face into hers with a restrained passion only an older man could exhibit. With every purse of his lips, hers opened more, and soon they were inhaling each others hurried breaths with intensifying passion. 

As Lord Baelish cupped her face with his hands to kiss her more deeply, Sansa furrowed her brow. She wasn’t hurting but anguished, with so much repressed passion now coming to light like water breaking through a stone dam. Breaking the near silence of their encounter, she let go a whimper into his mouth. He felt her chest quiver against his forearms, which were now resting against her shoulders and the tops of her breasts. The whimper sent shockwaves down his body, resulting in a tingling ache in his member.

Sansa started to slump downwards, using all of the strength in her legs to keep her upright. She was dying to be held up by Lord Baelish’s wiry arms, and her body subconsciously gave him cause to do so. 

With a sweeping motion, Lord Baelish hooked his elbows beneath her underarms, and drew her sharply into his mouth, this time darting his tongue inside. 

Sansa’s eyes flew open for a second. She had never had the tongue of a man in her mouth. Unfortunate past marriages had not been conducive to heartfelt passion, and she had missed out on the beauty of all that led to lovemaking.

Lord Baelish tasted like a hint of mint. He always avoided wine to keep his wits about him, and she was now appreciating that fact more than ever. Her marriages had been wrought with men whose breath was thick with barleywine, but he was different. She enjoyed his skilled tongue darting around hers, and she attempted to respond in kind. As her tongue slid around his and back again, what felt like dragon fire burned between them. Any insecurity she had about her skills at deep kissing dissipated and she all but fell into his mouth. 

Sansa felt her mind slipping away, and her body taking over her entire existence. Her arms darted upwards and wrapped around Lord Baelish’s neck in an embrace intended more for closeness than for comfort. Her fingernails slid up his neck and grasped the short greying hair at the base of his head. As she tilted her head to the side to catch her breath, she found herself inadvertently guiding him to her ear. Any poison left in her ears from the evil and manipulative words that had so often entered was cleansed with his gentle tongue. He traced the outer lobe and worked towards the center. The tickle was unbearable and Sansa’s mouth curled as she pulled away, but Lord Baelish did not take the entire hint to heart and instead let his tongue fall slowly down her ear to the lowest part. As he pulled the tip of his tongue away, shivers ran down her upper body, resting in her breasts and causing an ache she had never felt with a man. 

Overwhelmed by wicked passion, Lord Baelish leaned in and nibbled gently on her ear. The gasp that jumped from Sansa made him worried that perhaps he had gone too far. He knew physical pain had been all too present in her bedchamber encounters up until now, and wanted to avoid making her mind go to dark memories. Instead, his actions were validated by Sansa moaning, louder this time, and turning to him with her head thrown back, neck exposed, and breasts pressing into him firmly. Surely they had reached a point where any next steps had to be discussed, and he spoke quietly to her.

“My Lady, I fear I have reached a point where I must ask you what your intents are here. I think you know mine.”

Sansa’s breathing increased in intensity and pace, as her mind struggled to find itself in the storming mental clouds. She remained silent.

“My lady” he panted “I must again ask of your intents.”

After several seconds of labor, she found her voice and whispered.

“I intend for your picture to become a reality.”

His lips once again met hers, now wet and swollen. She winced as he once again pulled away from her.

“And what of this, my lady?” he asked, leaning in and pressing his scruffy cheek against hers and breathing softly into her ear.

Sansa responded more quickly this time, in a low husky tone.

“I intend for you to make love to me.”

The most beautiful words he had ever heard had just hit his ears. All fantasies from the last several years suddenly seemed pitiful compared to what was happening now. Blood poured inside from his head to between his legs, and the intense fire below made him fear he would finish right there in his britches as they whispered to each other.

With the next movement of their dance in progress, Lord Baelish looked around to realize that the sun had set more, leaving them in near darkness at the prayer tree. 

“The sun is almost set, my lady...it’s probably best that way. Take my hand, I will lead the way. I think the safest place is my bedchamber.”

Sansa gulped, her breasts heaving into him. Lord Baelish slid his fingers along the back of her hand and threaded them between hers. He brought it down from his neck and to her side, and quickly walked ahead through the crunching snow. The walked silently hand in hand down the main pathway to the castle when Lord Baelish suddenly stopped. 

A torch burning only half a field away began to move; he had realized that it was a guard on patrol. Any evidence that Sansa had been with him in the dark would surely result in Jon Snow putting his head on a pike, so he reconsidered their approach to the castle. He had previously noted a long forgotten side entrance, which led to the end of of the wing where he was currently residing; it required them to go through the family’s hall of tombs. It would necessitate some navigation through underbrush, but it was the only way. Sansa sensed the danger as well, and expressed her worries.

“The guard...he...we mustn’t…”

“Yes, we will go around, but I need you to trust me, and be silent, even if briars pull at your skirts.”

Despite the increasing darkness, he could tell Sansa was nodding in compliance.

Lord Baelish squeezed Sansa’s hand tighter and walked a step ahead, guiding her through the forest’s edge in the late dusk light. They kept a decent pace, only pausing occasionally for her to untangle her skirts from shrubs and briars.

After what seemed like ages, they approached the very edge of the cleared ground surrounding the castle. The untouched snow looked like smoothed over mortar in the growing moonlight. They immediately realized that their tracks in the snow might lead to some type of investigation regarding the evening from Jon Snow, but they were at the point of no return. He turned to her to speak, but she was not interested in words. In the boldest move she had ever made, she led their threaded fingers to her left breast. She needed to be in his bedchamber and she needed it now. Any fear he was feeling disappeared as his manhood grew firmer in his trousers. 

“Unh, my gods, my gods.” he grunted. 

In conflict with his instincts, Lord Baelish removed his hand from her breast and pulled her almost violently behind him towards the hidden entrance of the castle. He was dying to experience more of her, of them, of life...finally. The snow squeaked and crunched under their shoes, each sound a possible exposure of their forbidden liaison. They reached the entrance, overgrown with ivy and littered with crumbling mortar, and grasped frantically in the dark looking for the doorway. Soon enough, Lord Baelish’s hand slid over splintered oak, then he easily found the metal ring in the center. 

“Shh, my lady, I’ve found it. Be silent for a moment.”

He pulled the ring and a loud crunch pierced the air. If any sound could have warned the patrol of their presence, it was that one.

A moment of panic overtook Sansa’s mind, and a fear of never having Lord Baelish in his entirety made her sick to her stomach. The same fear and desire gave incredible strength to Lord Baelish’s slender frame, and a final tug of the ring resulted in the door springing open through loose rubble and snow dusted leaves.

Regardless of the relief of the door’s opening, they still had to navigate their way to the bedchamber. Neither of them knew how they would get that far without melting into puddles on the floor from desire.

One single torch burned in the endlessly long hall of tombs. It was rare that anyone came down there anymore, so this was likely the safest stage of their journey. With that in mind, Lord Baelish succumbed to his urgent desire and initiated a reprieve from their walking. After drawing Sansa in for a long and hard kiss, he scooped her up and placed her rear on the edge of a tomb, her feet dangling. 

He placed his hand on her thigh, and it sent signals of lust to Sansa’s sensuous center. Their eyes met as it became apparent that his hand’s proximity was dangerous to their progress to his bedchamber. But he needed to feel her.

Lord Baelish curled his fingers slightly, relishing the give of her supple thigh under them. Sansa was aching at this point, and grabbed his hand. He thought she would throw his hand aside in displeasure, but instead she held it while she rustled up one side of her skirts. She placed his hand on her bare thigh.

Lord Baelish groaned as he felt the heat from her center from inches away. He walked his fingers upwards at an incredibly slow pace; as he did, Sansa grew dizzy and nervous. So rare had it been for a man to touch her nethers, she felt as if it were the first time. He continued to creep his hand towards her hot center.

“Oh gods. Oh gods...” Lord Baelish let forth a quieted stream of exclamations that seemed to be learned in one of his brothels. His raspy, hushed tone and out-of-character language made Sansa grow even more lightheaded. 

He started to trace his fingers around her outer folds, feeling an intense wetness that he realized was soaking everything between her legs. Sansa let out a sigh that made him hard as a stone.

Senses of urgency and intimacy battled for their minds as they stayed there...her propped on a stone while he leaned into her with his fingers almost entering her. 

Sansa whispered huskily into his ear. “Lord Baelish, we should go.”

Lord Baelish nodded in agreement, but his hand stayed where it was, tracing her womanhood like a shark circling prey. His hands reflected his personality...careful, but ambitious. 

Sansa started to initiate their departure from the area, and she moved her hips to shift her weight. At that moment, Lord Baelish’s finger moved to touch her soaking entrance. The twisted grimace on his face made her realize that he might burst at any moment, just from touching her. Nothing could have made Sansa grow more lustful until she saw that face.

Lord Baelish’s wrist bent and his finger entered her slowly. His labored groan would have made someone think he was the one being touched. He instinctively began fluttering his finger inside of her, her wetness coating his finger and surrounding hand like an enchanted ointment. As he felt the inside of her, his member grew even more desperate for her touch. He had touched her for the first time, and he was so longing for her to reciprocate that he could barely stand. He grasped her hand, slipped it inside the front of his britches, and placed it gently on his manhood. 

Sansa let out an almost silent “ah” as she met his member for the first time. He was of normal length, but thick, like a Dothraki sword. She immediately felt how much it was throbbing and straining against her touch; and drops of his juices, preparing for her, leaked out.

Holding her hand, he rubbed it on his member, up and down with a firm but nurturing pressure. Only five or six strokes up and down his member brought him to the edge. Then, with a lurch, Lord Baelish grunted quietly and jerked his hips forward. Almost immediately, Sansa felt her hand, and fabric of his britches, grow wet. He had finished on her hand, and in his own clothes; it was first time he had experienced that.

She gazed at him, concerned, as he looked downward in what appeared to be embarrassment that he had soiled her hand with his seed. 

“My lady…” he started.

She removed her hand from his britches and dragged it along her skirts to clean herself. In lieu of any words of comfort in response to his stuttering, she cupped his face and brought it to hers. 

“My Lord, we need to go.”

For a moment, Lord Baelish sought something to cover the wet stain that was very visible at the front of his britches. He was so accustomed to maintaining appearances...both personally and physically. A squeeze from Sansa’s hand brought him back to the task at hand, getting to his bedchamber. He removed his finger from her womanhood and picked her up off of the tomb and placed her feet on the floor.

The remaining jog to the staircase, hall doorway, and bedchamber went without incident. Only after the bedchamber door closed behind them did they feel secure. As Lord Baelish turned the lock, Sansa walked to the other side of the room to take in his lodgings. Per his usual muted tastes, the room was draped in thick black and grey fabrics, with a charcoal colored quilt draped over his bed. A small fire burned in the hearth at the corner of the room, and each crackle and spark from the dry oak wood seemed deafening. Feeling his gaze upon her, she turned back to face the room’s entrance to find him staring at her with a strange look in his eyes; one of both desperation and wickedness. 

She responded in kind, and they stood and stared at each other in the light for the first time in nearly an hour. He was glad that any further physical affection would be in full sight. 

Sansa looked down at his britches examined the very visible wet mark where he had released due to her hand. Although Lord Baelish would usually be embarrassed by an incident like that, his desire was heightened at the sight of her examining him.

Interrupting the crackles of the fire, Lord Baelish spoke in a low tone. 

“As you can see, I need to remove my garments, my lady. May I do that here?”

“Oh, by all means, by all...means...” Sansa said, nodding back and forth, almost in disagreement with herself. She was suddenly fighting an internal conflict. She desired the man, she felt mentally joined with him on a level as deep as the sea, and their goals had proven the same. But so many had whispered into her ear to not get close to Lord Baelish. He was twice her age; his motives, to most, were suspect; he had risen to nobility only through strategy and marriage; and the recent death of his wife, her own aunt, was under suspicious circumstances to all but her.

She quickly put those messages out of her mind. His confession at the prayer tree had confirmed what she had longed to be true for the past season...that someone wanted her fulfillment more than their own power. 

He crossed the room and met her in an embrace so strong that it made their bones ache. As their lips found each other, he lowered his hands and began to unlace himself as fast as he could. His semi-hard and soaking manhood slipped out as he wiggled his hips and legs out of their cloth prison. He quickly rid himself of his cloak, shirt, and boots so he stood naked in front of her. Sansa gazed at every inch of him, up and down, and felt dragon’s fire burning between her legs. She pressed in closer and slid her hand down from his shoulder to his abdomen, tracing an extremely dark and wide scar that interrupted the grey hair on his chest.

“What, what hap-” she started.

“Not important right now, my lady. Just a simple test which I failed...it was the failure that made me determined to never have one again.”

She was intrigued but did not push the subject further. She was suddenly becoming intimidated by their physical situation, as she had never truly made love with a man before, only been used harshly. Stained memories of her second, wicked husband tried to break through, but the desire for the man before her quickly blotted out that ink.

His hands found hers and he slid them down to his hip bones, slightly pressing them forward so his manhood touched her still-clothed body. As she held his hips, he brought her hands to her hair and grasped it. He kissed her lightly, refraining from the gift of his tongue. He drew his head back, and looked at her face. Shadows and light danced alternately on her ivory skin, occasionally highlighting her emerald eyes. The same dance drew out his features, providing her with an improved view of his dark blue eyes and carefully groomed beard that was sprinkled with grey, like crystals of salt left on a black platter. After intense stares proved frustrating, Lord Baelish spoke.

“My lady, my deepest desire at this moment is to have you completely, and you me. It’s not my place to tell a queen what to do, but to ask what she wants.”

A long pause inspired a follow up from Lord Baelish.

“What say you, Lady Sansa?”

Sansa was lost for words, but quickly nestled her head into the crook of Lord Baelish’s neck before, to his surprise, planting tiny kisses down his body. She made sure to trace his scar in its entirety, as she was sure it must have had something to do with a sacrifice in pursuit her ascension to the throne. She sunk her head lower and lower, until she was planting tiny kisses at the root of his member. It was still sticky with his seed, and came back to life sooner than would be expected after such a blast of passion earlier. 

Lord Baelish leaned back his head and moaned. Her mouth on him was not only cleaning him of his earlier release, but in a way, cleaning him of all of the impure deeds he had committed before this moment in her honor.

Sansa had loved a man with her mouth before, so she proceeded without much hesitation. She flattened her tongue and started dragging it from his root to the head, making sure to swallow any remnants of his earlier climax. He hissed as her movements became more elaborate; swirling her tongue around the head and concentrating on the underside of his shaft. At this point, he stood at full mast, and Sansa continued to relish him in her mouth despite him being cleaned of his own release. He began lurching back and forth, making gentle love to her mouth, but soon realized that finishing twice while she ached was not at all fair. He loosened his grip on her hair somewhat and guided her head back away from him.

She gazed up at him with eyes that seemed to be on fire. He could tell she wanted him, but was unsure of what to do. The poor thing had been so routinely mistreated that she had never experienced a reciprocal encounter. He resolved to fulfil any desire the young woman could articulate.

He silently urged her to stand, and she did. Breathing heavily, he pointed a finger and touched her neck, slowly dragging it downwards until it rested at the center of her breast. She arched backwards in an attempt to present herself to him like a platter of food. Lord Baelish took his other hand and began unfastening the silver wolf pin on her cloak, hungry to see more of her. 

“May I undress you, my lady?” he asked quietly.

Sansa, with eyes closed, nodded yes.

Her cloak fell, and he began unfastening and unlacing what seemed to be countless layers of clothes. Soon enough, she was undressed down to her riding boots. 

Lord Baelish scooped her up by the rear and placed her on the edge of the bed. He kissed her knees and lower thighs while he slid off the tall leather boots, exposing pale and slender ankles. He grasped an ankle and kissed it gently, then tracing kisses down to her toes. He tickled her unintentionally, and she kicked her foot, hitting him lightly on the chin.

“Perhaps we will try that another time.” he said, with wickedness in his eyes.

His kisses began to journey upwards, and through the whirlwind that was her mind, Sansa realized he was close to kissing her womanhood. No one had ever done this before, and she was nervous to receive his nether regioned kisses. She felt her core beginning to shake.

Lord Baelish’s face approached a sparse auburn bush surrounding her soaking pink cunny, and he thought he might collapse into it. Since she came of age, he had dreamt of tasting her. He was inches away from doing so, and his life seemed complete already. He could tell she was shaking, so he applied a comforting pressure to her hips in a show of comfort.

He nestled his face into her, at first simply enjoying the smell and the feel of her on his mouth, nose and chin. As she squirmed, he opened his mouth and started to kiss her folds, her entrance, and then her button, which was now swollen and hot. She gasped and clutched the quilt as he began to concentrate on bringing her to climax. He darted his tongue in and out of her entrance, periodically licking his way up to her button and swirling a few circles before starting again. He sensed that she was close to climax due to her increasingly rapid breathing, so he changed his approach to speed things along. He slid two fingers inside of her, allowing him to concentrate his tongue on her button completely. As his fingers fluttered, he lapped at her button, even harder still as she grasped the back of his head with a tortured grip. However foreign this felt, Sansa was relishing every movement he made. 

Despite two marriages, Sansa had never experienced climax. The cruelty and abuse she had faced in bedchambers thus far had removed any of her pleasure from the equation. Any self care that some women allegedly practice was made trivial by the horrible fight for survival she had been in for nearly a decade. The only constant support she had received was from Lord Baelish, and she was finally with him now, and glad that he was the one urging on her eruption.

Without warning, Sansa stopped moving and making noise, and her first climax rolled through her like waves against the sea walls of King’s Landing.

Lord Baelish stilled as it rolled through her. He kept his tongue flat on her button and his fingers still inside of her, feeling the intense contractions of her walls as her climax peaked and subsided. She released her grip on his thick greying hair and covered her face. He crawled up her body on the bed and moved her hands to the side, planting a passionate kiss on her straight on. She tasted herself, and he tasted himself. It was as if they were making love through their kisses. 

As their naked bodies pressed against each other without movement, the fire crackling in the fireplace at the far reaches of the room seemed to inspire more lovemaking. There could be no fire like the one between Lord Baelish and I, thought Sansa. He rolled off so they faced each other on their sides. 

Their bodies, now slick with sweat and the juices of their nethers, began to intertwine in a delicate dance like snakes in Dorne. Kisses turned to nibbles, and nibbles turned to grazing teeth, and a near-silent room became filled with groans and panting. They each explored the other with their hands, stroking, tapping, fluttering, and grasping, until they could take no more.

Lord Baelish led her gaze to his by her chin, and asked for her royal consent on their final physical steps.

“My lady, will you let me make love to you?”

Without hesitation, Sansa provided a firm answer.

“Yes, I will let you.”

Lord Baelish rolled over onto his back and guided Sansa over him to straddle his hips. He wanted her above him. He wanted to see her. He wanted her to feel free. He wanted her to move how she wanted to, for once.

She pressed down on his chest as she lowered herself onto him. He had waited so long for this moment, dreamt of it so often, done countless wicked things to get here...he could barely believe that he was entering her, with her young and supple body in full view.

She sat still for a moment, enjoying being impaled by his throbbing red sword of flesh. As she became used to his presence inside her, she began to roll her hips back and forth, feeling him slide out a few inches before she pressed forward and sheathed him again. His eyes remained closed, wanting no other senses to interfere with the feel of her.

After riding him for several minutes, her hands disappeared from his body. Unwantingly, Lord Baelish opened his eyes to witness what changes had occurred in her movements. To his utter pleasure, he opened his eyes to witness Sansa running her hands through her long auburn hair, and her breasts jiggling gently with every movement of their lower bodies. Nothing could be more sinful than no one enjoying her breasts at this moment, he thought. He raised his arms and cupped his hands over them. 

As she continued riding him, he cupped and gently bounced her breasts as he was able. As the pleasure of his actions hit Sansa, she leaned forward to grant him better access. He began rolling her nipples, and watched in awe as her breasts grew more tight and hot. She seemed to have no control over her body at this point, and he wanted to relish in that wantonness. He pushed her upwards, their abdomens further apart now, and he took his thumb to her button.

This action started what became an incredibly quick journey to a second climax for Sansa. She started to buck back and forth on his cock, and tensed every muscle in her body as he tortured her button, breast, and tunnel. Vocalizing this time, Sansa let loose a high pitched grunt as she was taken over the edge. She clamped around his member like a vice, and he struggled to not empty himself inside her while hissing through his teeth.

The climax was barely over when Lord Baelish grabbed Sansa’s hips and moved her to the side. At first confused, she quickly realized he was coming back for more of her at a different angle. He almost smiled as he gave her hip bone a guiding pat upwards...he couldn’t believe this was actually happening. He was going to finish from behind her.

Still reeling and sensitive, Sansa sloppily stanced herself in front of him on her hands and knees, letting her hair drop forward in her face in exhaustion. Lord Baelish positioned himself behind her and paused only for a moment to feel the smoothness of her supple rear under his palms. She shifted her weight, silently urging him to start his own race towards climax. 

He placed the tip of his slick and throbbing member at her entrance and stared at that beautiful sight. For years he had dreamt of this moment, and it was finally his time. In one fluid motion, he sunk every inch of himself into her. 

Words were nonexistent now. Nothing could do this experience enough justice to attempt to articulate it. Each of them grunted, whimpered and panted as he plunged his full length inside of her tightness again and again. The world disappeared and, to him, they became the only two creatures in the world. His only goal was to be intertwined with her. The only thing that mattered was him inside of her. His mind went blank as he began to thrust so hard that his balls began to tap her button and his hip bones hit the bottom of her own. Her body was so overwhelmed and so spent that she laid her head down on the mattress while he approached his final thrusts.

He opened his eyes to see her supple, ivory rear beneath him and a puddle of auburn hair on the charcoal quilt further ahead, like red fire burning against the night sky. That image burned into all nerves from his eyes to his member, and his climax rolled through him with more intensity than he had ever felt. Shaking down to his core, he started to spill inside of her with great veracity. His mouth emitted something that sounded like the howl of a wounded animal; he failed to quiet himself at all. Shot after powerful shot of thick white seed exploded inside of her as he howled, so hard that she could feel it. She beared down onto him so he would stay completely sheathed during his climax, enjoying every throb and ounce of wetness inside of her. 

Unable to support himself anymore, he slumped onto her back and then rolled off onto the bed beside her. Juices from their lovemaking ran out of her onto the quilt, leaving pearly puddles, but neither of them cared. 

As they regained some sense of consciousness, it hit them that they had finally fulfilled long-hidden sexual yearnings, and...unfortunately...that they now had several things between them that they would have to hide without failure. That is, until they killed Jon Snow…

With the melding of their bodies and their minds, they were now only one step away from her ruling a kingdom.


End file.
